Love to Crave
by reachuphigh
Summary: Life is never normal when two want to compete for it. IzayaMikado, ChikageMikado.


_Everyone_ knew Ryuugamine Mikado **wasn't** the average boy. Most people also didn't notice that he had a preference for men, and even though he _did_ blush around Anri, it was mainly because Masaomi was around when they were together, setting off his nerves. There was always that secret and inlaying crush he had on the faux-blonde, but eventually, it had passed. Kida had left the pair with the girl he absolutely despised, hate burning into something more along the lines of _hurt_. This experience wasn't something Mikado had wanted, something he yearned for. It was **so** **nice** to actually be with his best friend, blue eyes automatically lighting up at the sight of him, of the sound of his voice, of the feel of his skin those few nights they fooled around in Mikado's apartment.

However, that was _dead and done with_.

These days, Mikado was finishing his last year of high school, and a certain dark haired man had swept him off his feet in moments. He'd dealt with him before, yes, for _few_ pieces of information, and the slight sell of his body wasn't **that** big of a deal, as long as he ended up getting what he wanted. The nights they got together in his apartment were normally heated, whimpers and moans filling the empty apartment space when Namie was missing. The informant's name would have been called several times, **e c h o i n g** in the still air that was only stirred by their erotic movements, head thrown back in pleasure or back arched against the leather of the couch, tie pulled off, school uniform dangling pathetically on his thin frame that had filled out in the slightest.

Mikado didn't think they would end up falling in some sort of '_love_'.

It was Friday, he was out of school, and classes had exhausted him in the fullest. Mikado wasn't looking forward to the rest of the night, simply because he was going to be bored out of his mind. Things took a turn, however, when the phone in his pocket buzzed, name reflected in his eyes. **Orihara Izaya**. Slowly, the teen blinked before clicking the answer button, Japanese flowing effortlessly off his tongue with short replies, not quite in the mood from the previous fight outside his apartment the other day, wondering when some people would just give up on trying to fight him without any other Blue Squares members with him. He managed to end his call with a small sigh, pushing up from the low table in his room, kicking at the blanket strewn across his futon with little effort to try and find something _somewhat_ decent for going out to eat. Willingly and surprisingly, he accepted the dinner date.

- - - **x**

The way cold fingers twisted through his was **somewhat** comforting and strange, mainly because he was used to his hair being pulled while in bed, asking for a name to be called out. Honestly, he wasn't that into going out on fancy dinner dates, and he wasn't completely sure how fancy this 'date' was going to be. He followed along, eyes locked on the head of longer dark hair as he followed like a dog, stomach caught between wanting and not wanting food. Seats were taken at the restaurant, along with orders. Mikado simply ordered a salad. He didn't need anything more with his stomach eating itself from utter nervousness, wondering, '_Why the hell is Orihara Izaya taking __**me**__ out on a date_?' It was strange—no, it was _beyond_ strange, especially since Izaya didn't try to win hearts of anyone.

He loved each human equally. Where in his wrong mind would he treat a single one special like he was Mikado?

The teen munched on his salad quietly, the Italian dressing stinging against his tongue as he savoured the taste and smell of parmesan cheese. It'd been awhile since he had anything so filling and tasty, despite the fact that he was eating it with a person that was caught in a love/hate relationship with him. Slowly but surely, a conversation was picked up. Izaya **mainly** talked about himself, at first. It was all simple, things he'd previously told Namie (_when not invited to a certain hotpot_) and had actually become comfortable with telling. Partially listening to the older, partially listening to his salad crunching, Mikado managed to stay concentrated enough to listen. Even though he was just sitting there and listening the majority of the time with small noises of agreement and nods, some wouldn't have even come _close_ to considering it a 'conversation'—not that it bothered him, at all.

Somehow, the informant had managed to **finish off** his food before Mikado was even able to take several last bites. He declared himself full, slowly popping the mint into his mouth after pushing away the half eaten salad. Again, he wasn't hungry, especially with his suspicions of the other male. Fingers were oddly laced (again) after Izaya paid, tipping an amount the waitress probably didn't deserve. Blue hues stared down at their hands before accepting the fact he was being held onto. Things didn't seem right and something _was_ off. Orihara Izaya wasn't a sweet man, from what Mikado had seen—at least, well, towards other people other than himself. Gears were turning, considering the possibilities of anyone even coming close to liking him.

The teen was walking hand in hand with someone who could destroy any life in moments, but somehow he found a trust deep down for the older. All of this was new, and somewhat **special**, despite how they normally 'spoke' to each other—which was more or less sex in some way when they were together. They did have regular conversations, but recently the Orihara had claimed it as '_relaxing Mikado-kun so he doesn't stress over his __**senior**__ year_'. (Which, the word **senior** only made things worse). Footstep noises were left at the door of his home, and Mikado turned with his hand on the doorknob to the others call.

"Mikado."

He wasn't sure what it was until it had finally hit him, however. Fingers had run through his short hair, having been kept grown slightly longer since his freshman year in high school. Two years wasn't that long, but considering the relationship he had developed with Izaya since they met—it was **kind of** a big deal. Mikado felt the gentle and sweet kiss against his lips, uncharacteristic compared to how _passion_ filled things normally were. Waiting for a moment as the other lingered, his eyes had slowly opened back up before watching the man walk away. The kiss lingered on his lips as he undressed for bed, mind muddled and unsure of what to think.


End file.
